


Time's Arrow

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Character Study, Comic: The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck, Duck Family Feels, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: “But what does that mean?” Huey insists. “Where—whenare we?”“This is the year Scrooge finally makes it rich. We’ve been sent back to the Klondike. In 1897.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Life and Times to the moon and back, I'll never get over Scrooge's character development and downward spiral. If you can find it and give it a read, I'd definitely recommend it!

Uncle Donald and Scrooge are fighting. Again. 

They tend to stay out of each other’s way, probably to prevent this very thing from happening. But there is a deep gulf between Donald and Scrooge, wherein a decade of resentment and guilt has been allowed to fester. And it has to reach a fever pitch sometime. 

As such, the interactions of their uncle and great-uncle are often limited to strained civility at the dinner table, or cold shoulders when on an impromptu adventure. 

Donald keeps to the houseboat when he’s not at work, and will only venture into the manor when Scrooge isn’t home. Alternatively, Scrooge has begun stalking through the halls like a man possessed, stopping only to glower balefully at the houseboat through any number of windows. 

But when he thinks the kids aren’t looking (they always,  _ always  _ are, because their family has always been fractured and they’re finally together but further apart than ever), the pride and stubborness get tucked away and Scrooge just looks numb. Just looks lost. 

Of course he’s back to being ornery and curmudgeonly in no time flat, and it’s easy for four children to forget about those moments. Easy to forget when they’re going on adventures behind their Uncle Donald’s back, yet again, only for him to be waiting for them in the foyer at two in the morning. 

Needless to say, the yelling starts almost immediately. 

But while Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby’s safety is at the center of the argument, they’re forgotten almost at once in the wake of Scrooge and Donald’s ire. All too soon, Donald’s beration of Scrooge and their great-uncle’s defensive retorts take a turn, and their fight abruptly becomes more personal. 

Louie has his hood up and face buried in the collar, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if to shut out the rest of the world. 

Huey looks and feels helpless, the problem-solver presented with a problem he’s perhaps a decade too late to solve. 

Dewey wraps his arms around himself, as if trying to contain his body as it practically vibrates with stress. He’s weighed down by the things he knows that his brothers do not, and all he has yet to learn. 

Webby, still learning how to navigate social situations, looks like a deer caught in headlights, at the same time looking liable to bolt at any moment. 

And she does, leading the triplets to an air vent that she opens without a sound. They climb in one at a time, to no reaction from Donald or Scrooge. 

“—And what  _ fine _ wisdom from the likes of a deadbeat—” 

Climbing through the vents, it’s like their first day at the manor all over again. The yelling behind them fades, until all that’s left is the sound of their shuffling and the creaking of the metal duct around them. They’re not quite far enough to joke around yet. 

Perhaps she was channeling the nostalgia they were all feeling, recalling the sense of adventure and excitement that had colored their first meeting and their daring defiance of  _ the  _ Scrooge McDuck. In any event, Webby leads them to the Wing of Secrets once more. 

It seems Scrooge installed a new lock and a placed a bolting spell on the door since their last destructive visit. But Huey has the counterspell written in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and Webby picks the lock with her hairpin, and they enter without fuss. 

The Wing of Secrets (or the world’s deadliest garage) looks much like it did when they last visited. The hole in the ceiling's been patched up, and the remains of Pixiu’s stone prison have been swept away, but shadows still cling to every corner of the room, deep and dark, lending it a muffled, mysterious vibe. It’s almost resembles what they imagine a museum feels like afterhours, with so many strange objects on display under glass cases. As they wander around the room they find everything from glimmering jade daggers to rough hewn helmets and even a rusted hourglass. 

It takes a few minutes, but one by one they begin to find their voices again.

“Hey, my sticky-notes are still here,” Louie says, the first to break the silence. The surprise in his voice is mostly genuine. 

Huey hums noncommittally from where he’s sitting on a crate, distractedly thumbing through a catalog from the 1980s, pulled from Montezuma’s Pile of Old Magazines. Dewey and Webby are messing around with two obsidian-tipped spears, the later far more invested and trained than the former. She’s the only one who gives Louie her full attention. 

“What’d you find?” Webby asks, setting her spear down. Dewey continues to fiddle idly with his. 

“Hold on,” Louie replies, ducking down behind crates and misshapen objects covered in sheets. He emerges once more with the head of a robot held in front of his face, his balance precarious under the heavy load.  

“Beep, zorp, I am Lightbulb Face, blorp,” Louie says, briefly doing the robot with one shaky arm as he tries to hold up the robot head one handed. 

Webby laughs, even as she starts eagerly explaining, “That’s all that was left of Armstrong! He was an invention of Gyro Gearloose’s —”

Dewey, strangely silent up to now, interrupts. 

“Do you think Uncle Donald will make us leave?”

He has the attention of all his siblings now, biological and not. Louie lets Armstrong’s head hit the floor with a dull metallic thud. 

“Why would you say that?” Huey asks, looking stricken. 

Dewey swings the spear in a low arc by his feet. “You saw how mad he was at Uncle Scrooge,” he said lowly, “and he just gets madder every time.”

Louie nods hesitantly, and Huey turns his betrayed expression on him. “Just when it looks like things are starting to get better, they just start again,” he mutters, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I guess...it’ll keep happening, right?”

Huey curls up on the wooden crate he’s sitting on, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

Looking equally aghast is Webby, whose voice seems to have deserted her. She climbs up beside Huey and hugs him, only a little awkwardly. She’s improved in leaps and bounds in terms of showing physical affection. 

Huey leans into Webby’s embrace, but keeps watching Dewey as he swings the spear above the ground like a pendulum. His younger brother’s expression is vacant, uncharacteristically so. 

“Dewey?” Huey says faintly. 

Dewey rubs his eyes brusquely, staving off the tears they’re burning with. He wants to smile, to joke and distract Webby and his brothers, but his worry overrides all of that. He needs to ask one more question, can feel it bubbling up his throat, but he keeps his beak clamped shut. 

_ “Do you think Uncle Scrooge would fight for us? Would he try to get us to stay?” _

Huey taps Webby on the shoulder, and glances pointedly at Dewey when he has her attention. 

Webby understands almost at once, and they part and climb down from the crate. She and Huey envelope Dewey in a hug, Louie joining them a little belatedly. 

They huddle together tightly, allowing each other’s closeness to offer a brief respite. Webby’s rubbing the back of Dewey’s head, awkward and heartwarming. Louie’s hiding his face in the collar of his hoodie, but he’s hugging him tighter than anyone. And by the way Huey’s standing, he’s clearly trying to angle Dewey away from the rows of potentially fragile, certainly priceless, and so far deadly, artifacts behind him. But Dewey doesn’t move, because in that moment everything is okay. 

Of course, it isn’t meant to last.

They begin to hear voices approaching the Wing of Secrets, increasing in volume. Webby and his brothers pull away, apologetic and resigned, and in that moment Dewey is flooded with dread. He’s terrified of what will happen when his uncles come through the door, certain that the new life they’ve come to love will be irrevocably changed. 

But he doesn’t expect the door to slam open, making them all jump as the full force of their uncles’ fury and fear washes over them. 

Dewey realizes too late that he’s standing far too close to one of the room’s many dangerous magical objects. 

As the door flies open, he jerks back in surprise and smacks a pedestal with his elbow. He turns, too slow to do more than watch as a glass case and the rusted hourglass within tip over and shatter on the floor. 

Over the roaring in his ears, he hears Scrooge’s shout, desperate and loud, “ _ KIDS—NO!” _

The world drops out from under the four of them. 

It's an immediately nauseating feeling, but they don't have to worry long because they’re suddenly in freefall. They don’t have time to scream as their vision begins to white out, and the last thing they see are the expressions of dawning horror on Scrooge and Donald’s faces. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face

Huey awakes to whiteness. 

For a blinding, panicked moment, he thinks they’re still in the void that had so abruptly claimed them. But the rest of his senses return piecemeal, and he realizes that he’s cold and wet, that his head hurts. He can hear Webby and his brothers groaning and moving around nearby. 

Huey pushes himself up with some effort, soaked and shivering, and looks around. 

They’ve landed in a snowdrift, one of many which dot the unfamiliar landscape, which seems to be cast in shades of gray. The sky is pale, almost white, and the sun is barely visible through the clouds. 

They’re at the base of a small rise which he can’t see over, surrounded by sparse trees and patches of dead grass in between the piles of snow. In the distance there’s a ponderous mountain range, craggy and topped with snow. 

“Is everyone okay?” Huey asks, looking over Webby and his brothers with a critical eye. 

_ “What the heck was that? _ ” Louie sputters, his beak chattering with cold. 

“We’ve been-we’ve been  _ teleported  _ somewhere!” Webby breathes, helping Louie out of the snow. “I’d say that wherever we are, we’re at a high altitude!  _ Definitely  _ not Duckburg.”

She sounds just a little too elated, and the green-clad triplet scowls at her. 

“Great! How do we  _ un _ teleport?”

“That’s not really how it works, Louie.”

“ _ Oh man _ ,” Dewey whispers. 

Huey turns to the sibling who spoke last, and sees Dewey looking aghast. 

“Uncle Donald and Scrooge are gonna  _ kill  _ us,” he says, and Huey can see all his earlier panic bubbling to the surface once more. “Actually, no, just  _ me _ .  _ I _ broke the stupid hourglass.”

Webby freezes, alarm supplanting her cheery expression. That’s never a good sign, as unfailingly positive as she is. 

Sitting on the dead grass behind her, curled up in a miserable ball and jabbing at his phone, Louie complains about not having any bars. 

“Did you say  _ hourglass _ ?” Webby asks, so quietly Huey almost doesn’t hear her. He’s not sure if  _ Dewey  _ even hears her, but Huey is more concerned with the thread of unease in Webby’s voice. She looks afraid for the first time. 

Before anyone can respond, a shot rings out over their heads. 

Several things happen at once. 

Louie screams. Webby drags him down to lie flat on the ground. Huey in turn grabs Dewey, and they flatten themselves against the dead, brittle grass and slushy snow pile. 

“What is  _ happening?” _ Louie hisses with poorly masked terror in his voice. 

Huey fists his hand in the back of Dewey’s shirt, his heart racing tight in his throat even as he reassures them. “We’re going to be okay, guys. Everyone stay calm.”

They hear a voice coming from the other side of the rise, quickly growing louder. It’s furious, sharply accented, and impossibly  _ familiar _ . 

“Dirty rotten claim jumpers!  _ Varmints! _ Ye best clear out if you know what’s good for you!”

Appearing on top of the hill is a duck they know. 

He’s shabbily dressed in a scuffed wide-brimmed hat, thick burgundy coat, and muddy leather boots. He has a revolver in his hand, and a furious scowl on his face, but they recognize him nonetheless. They’d have to be blind and deaf not to recognize Scrooge McDuck. 

But he doesn’t recognize them. 

Huey realizes this within moments, as Scrooge’s eyes narrow and he holsters his gun. He approaches them slowly, cautiously, not seeming to know what to make of them. Huey knows that the Scrooge they just left behind in the mansion wouldn’t hesitate before rushing over to them, ensuring they were all unharmed before berating them for their recklessness. 

But there is no spark of recognition in the eyes of the Scrooge before them, and Huey wants to rail in disbelief at the distrust that’s there instead. 

“ _ Children?” _ Scrooge mutters, his brow furrowed in confusion as he warily glances around the sparse clearing. 

Huey gets up slowly, his shirt soaked and muddy, and his brothers and Webby not faring any better. He tugs Dewey to his feet. 

Webby helps Louie stand as well, their movements slowed by incredulity and shock. 

They have been silent up to now, confusion and fear stilling their tongues. That only lasts until Scrooge is nearly upon them. 

“Uncle Scr—” Dewey starts to exclaim, but Huey hurries to stifle him with a hand over his beak. 

Louie doesn’t seem to take the hint and blurts, “How is he  _ here?”  _

Webby hurries to silence him halfway through with an elbow to the ribs, and he wheezes through the end of the question. 

Louie glares at Webby and Huey, clearly demanded an explanation, but Scrooge is practically standing over them by this point, radiating an aura of menace and danger that their great-uncle only managed when he was well and truly  _ pissed _ . 

“What d’you four think  _ doin’  _ here?” he demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did your parents send you ahead to try and distract me? Think they can  _ bushwack  _ me with a couple eight-year-olds as bait?”

“We’re  _ twelve _ ,” Dewey retorts automatically, though seems to immediately regret it by the way he blanches when Scrooge’s glare lands on him. 

“And we don’t have parents,” Louie adds, only a little bitterly. He says it like it’s obvious, like Scrooge should know better. And he  _ should _ . But everything is wrong and this isn’t the Scrooge they know. 

Huey looks away for a moment, and so do Dewey and Webby. Something in his chest twinges in sympathy at the sight of Louie’s hunched shoulders, 

But this is the first thing that seems to throw Scrooge, at least for a moment, and in the space between two blinks he looks very young to Huey’s eyes. And then it clicks. 

_ Young _ . 

Scrooge is  _ young _ . 

“We’re not claim jumpers!” Webby says, panicked and desperate to be believed. 

Scrooge actually snorts, and his rigid stance relaxes somewhat. “Aye, I dinnae think you were,” he replies, but he’s not even looking at them now. Instead he’s scanning their surroundings, like he expects an army to leap out from behind one of the spindly trees. 

“We’re-we’re alone,” Huey says as evenly as he can when that sharp gaze lands on him. “We don’t know where we are, sir.” 

Huey has to resist fidgeting under Scrooge’s piercing look, hoping that his honesty shines through. 

“Likely story, kid,” Scrooge says. 

Huey wilts, but Webby quickly jumps in. “No, it’s true! We were-we were kidnapped! We don’t know by who. We managed to get away, but we’ve been on our own, and we’re...we’re lost now.” 

He’s privately impressed with Webby’s improved ability to lie. Huey supposes that either her lessons with Louie have been paying off, or the risk of them dying from exposure has motivated her. 

Scrooge eyes them for a moment longer, silently considering. Then he sighs, a short, exasperated sound. 

“What’re yer names?” he eventually asks. 

And that stings, just a little. Without looking at him, Huey knows that Dewey has bristled at the question. Nonetheless they all respond, one at a time like they were taught, with Webby introducing herself last. 

Scrooge nods once, a sharp jerk of his head, before turning his back on them and marching back up the slope of the hill without a word.

Their great-uncle leaves the four of them sputtering in his wake, Huey feeling the most bewildered and betrayed of all. He refuses to believe that Scrooge, any version of him, would simply abandon four children in the wilderness, but he’s getting further and further away and Huey has his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook with him, so they should be okay, right? They can figure this out on their own. 

Scrooge pauses to look back over his shoulder with a quizzical (and if Huey is reading him right,  _ amused _ ) expression. 

“Well, are ye comin’ or not?” he asks. 

That spurs the four of them into motion, and Huey is able to breathe again. He’s also able to devote more time and brainpower to one crucial question, which Dewey asks for him, only a little shrill:

“Okay, seriously, where  _ are  _ we?” 

“The past,” Huey replies, looking over at Webby for confirmation. “Right? It was the broken hourglass that sent us back.”

Webby nods slowly, wringing her hands as they carefully climb up the hill, muddy and choked with rocks as it is. Huey doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so nervous. 

“C’mon now, don’t dawdle!” Scrooge calls back to them, nearly on the other side of the hill. 

“But  _ Scrooge  _ is here,” Louie says in as loud of a whisper as he dares. “How is  _ Scrooge  _ here?” 

Webby takes a deep breath, but it does little to distract from the fact that her face has a bit of a sickly gray tinge to it, not unlike the dismal landscape they’ve found themselves in. “I think the hourglass was magically connected to him somehow,” she explains, “This year, this place, it’s too important to be anything else.”

“But what does that mean?” Huey insists. “Where— _ when  _ are we?”

“This is the year Scrooge finally makes it rich. We’ve been sent back to the Klondike. In 1897.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge is constantly waving a blunderbuss around in the original '87 series, which I always found completely wild.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments below!


End file.
